


Vortex Veins

by Filigranka



Category: The Demon Lover - Traditional Ballad
Genre: F/M, Ghosts, Mention of Death, might be consider darkish, trick - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-24
Updated: 2014-10-24
Packaged: 2018-02-22 10:38:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2504798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Filigranka/pseuds/Filigranka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a life outside of Heaven, after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vortex Veins

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Quillori](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quillori/gifts).



She was denied the entrance to this green and pleasant land, Heaven – but the undersea realm  to which her loved had taken her was equally beautiful. There were the castles with tall, lissom towers made of coral, floors, walls and ceilings decorated with shiny scales, gold coins... and the bones.

The kingdom’s greatness was built of – upon – shipwrecks. Sometimes when she – there had been a name once, but it had abandoned her long ago – was wandering through the corridors her gaze fall upon a skeleton or a skull, smiling at her from a chimney or a jamb. At the beginning she would cry from fear and grief – only to hear the cold, amused chuckle,  _his_ chuckle, echoing through the empty rooms.

She had learnt to not react – and then stopped noticing such trifles at all.

She mourned for nor beauty, nor jewels. Enlightening, in some ironic way: those days, it was the calmness and steadiness of everyday life she missed. It had been a hard life, true, it was a life of a peasant, not a queen, sure, but it seemed to be safe. There was some solid substance in her village, her husband, her home. It was undoubtedly real, while the underwater kingdom depended entirely on the ghost – his – whim. He destroyed it and rebuilt with a single gesture of his hand, he made the torture chambers and the prison cells with the same grace and easiness he created the ballrooms and pretty, richly ornamented, heavy dresses.

He probably liked to think he was good for her. Gentle, maybe. He bounded souls to serve her. He called her “his queen” or “my beloved” – never by name – suddenly throwing some elegant, smooth phrases into his generally simply sentences, as if he wasn’t able to decide whether he is a devil-king or a commoner. He started storms and gales, uplifted the mountains and made whirlpools, because of—

(‘just for you, my queen,’ he would whisper when sailors were dying with the prayers or curses at their blue lips, ‘just so you could please your eyes with the treasures they transport, just so you could enjoy their company, when I must – alas! – leave you. My dear lady, it’s all for you; I’d have married a princess in a far way land, but I wanted . . . loved . . . you more, and so you’ll have more than she could have ever dreamt of, more gems, more dresses, more servants, more beauty and love, and _fear_ ’)

—because _of course_ she needed another room, another piece of jewellery, another dead soul courting her.

She had learnt not to cry quickly. Very quickly, actually, because for all his whispered compliments, her once-lover-now-lord, had a short temper.

 

***

 

And then he was, one day, just returned from the journey, grinning widely, cruelly. She shivered but curtseyed and smiled.

He cut off her polite greeting, barking:

‘You miss that son of yours, don’t you? You have lamented the lack of him that night on my ship— I remember.’

She swallowed.

‘I was simply confused— pay no mind to it, it was so long ago!‘ The high-pitched chuckle she managed to produce sounded falsely even to her own ears.

‘But I remember it vividly. You were crying, my lady.’ He stroked her cheek, gently; his fingers were deathly cold. ‘I remember your tears and your fear – how could I not? You were so beautiful, moved by motherly love . . . The strongest bond, they say. I’m so content they’re wrong – you chose with me, after all.’

For a second she thought she will not stutter an answer, her stomach clutching with dread; and yet, when she finally spoke, her voice was steady, her smile bright:

‘How could I not go, when my lord begged me?’

‘How, indeed,’ he laughed, ‘when _your lord_ promised you the treasures and mysteries of the far away lands?’

‘I’m sorry that I caused you so much worry at that night,’ she muttered, still smiling pleasantly and rising her hand to meet his.

He shrugged.

‘Such is the privilege of being the fair women, my dearest. Causing the most powerful of men to tremble and weep.’

‘I’ve never wanted you to weep—’ He waved at her, cutting her off.

‘Everybody wants this. It’s a power, after all. And people look so prettily when they cry . . . But I wish to speak with you about more private matters. More relevant, I presume. So, do you miss your son?’

She tried to focus her gaze on his eyes and lied convincingly. His interest in her child could not be a good thing. His interest in _anybody_ could not be a good thing. Those who set a foot in the underwater realm were forever banished from Heaven’s shores.

‘Not much,’ speaking about her son in light-hearted, nonchalant manner was almost excruciating. ‘I’m sure he’s a spitting image of Ma— my husband. I don’t wish to reminiscent. . . To think about that time. I wish him well— he probably lives happily with a girl and kids of his own, and I’m glad for him. But I’m happy with you.’

‘He is not.’

Her heart trembled.

‘He is not?’, she repeated, stumbling at every word. ‘What— what do you mean?’

‘He is not, he does not. He looks nothing like your husband, to begin with – he has your of chin, your hair, your huge eyes and your full lips. Yet he has neither wife nor kids. And I don’t think he’s happy.’ Her lover sounded strangely contemplative. ‘I think he’s still looking for you, in one form or another. Or maybe he’s struggling to find the answers behind your disappearance. It appears that he loved you – loves you – very much. And yet you deny him any place in your heart! You’re so cruel, my lady.’

Her throat constricted so much it was almost impossible to breathe.

‘He’s... unhappy? Lonely? Why would you assume . . . ?’

Her lord shrugged.

‘He’s a sailor.’

— And her heart shattered —

‘I think I can use some new faces in my crew. I’m getting bored with the old ones. They are turning rusty. Cranky. So, if some young, handsome man caught your eye, just say a word,’ he added, smiling brightly.

She managed to shake her head as it was required. She managed to say he’s her one and only. She managed not to cry or beg him (don’t hurt the boy, he’s just that, a boy, not a threat, let him live his life, mayhap unhappy, but at least not damned) because that would bring, she was sure, her son’s – her only child’s – long, painful and cruel demise.

He kissed her throat and the collarbone’s line. His breath smelled like death; old, tired, jaded death. Rotten bodies floating in a thick water. But she got used to it; she supposed her own skin was like that, too.

‘Your fierce love,’ he whispered, ‘never ceases to amaze me.”

 

***

 

Months passed and he didn’t mention her kid; not even once. But she knew he was planning something and so she dreaded, not daring to whimper even when she seemed to be alone. In his realm not the servants, but walls were the best of spies.

 

***

 

When it happened, he dared to justify himself, sounding condescending and innocent.

‘I didn’t asked him,’ he stated. ‘I’d never do as much as lift a finger against the wishes of my lady. It was him who sought me. He seemed . . . attracted, sort of. Maybe because I am the same as his father’s age— I mean: at the age in which his father would be chosen he not the peaceful lull of  the undersea. Maybe because I often stay around you’, he chuckled, amused. ‘They say kids feel such things. Or maybe I should give myself some credit and admit I’m a charming middle-aged man.’

The devil himself is always charming, she thought for a millionth time. The Prince of Light. The Prince of Smiles. It was a pity she couldn’t see his deceiving, false mask oftener; her life would probably be less miserable then. But he made a point of showing her his true colours, as if it was some twisted proof of love (‘you’re the only one who truly knows me’).

‘Why are you so pale?’ he asked at that moment, shaping the words in the _honestly worried_ sound. ‘You need a rest? Or are just impatient to see your son, which you don’t love at all?’ he spat; there were no sing of his previous kindness in his words. ‘Fear not, my queen, I may bring him to you in less than a week, if you wish so. I’m a generous man. Besides, one should have mercy on a defeated rival... And he was my rival on that night, wasn’t he?’

She assured him her son had never been a rival for him, that her love for him is unpaired – and that she has no intention of seeing her husband’s child there. He would destroy their happiness by reminding them of her past mistakes and her guilt, and her sins.

‘You think too poorly of him,’ he laughed. ‘It’s flattering, but unfair. He’s a good boy. Hard-working and sensible, and quite handsome. He knows when to stay silent, too, and I like that very much. And he looks up to me’, the ghost added thoughtfully. ‘Really looks up to me. It’s nice. Refreshing. I’d enjoy his company down here.’

For a brief moment she considered crying and begging. But that would only agitate the daemon.

‘Do as you please,’ she said finally, softly. ‘I don’t care that much. But do you remember the days of our blissful youth? We were innocent and free, and that was the source of our happiness . . . If you bring my son here it will all be lost. We’ll find ourselves entangled in the past affairs, troubled by the matters long gone. Please,’ she whispered desperately, ‘believe me. Ain’t I the one who knows your heart?’

He hummed, seeming genuinely unsure – and for a second she could see in him that carefree, dedicated, bright young man she had fallen in love with.

‘It’s not like we need a decision now, is it?’ she asked, gently kissing his brow. ‘Let’s think about this tomorrow.’

But the moment was gone and he was once again this cold, cruel devil she knew.

‘I've made my decision, my love,’ he stated, ‘but if seeing your son would hurt you so much, I could reconsider . . .’ he hesitated theatrically.

‘I’ll do whatever you want—‘

‘Is that so? Will you declare that you wish to stay with me here, in this underwater realm, forever? On your own free will? Will you announce you care not for Heaven’s shores and _salvation_ they promise? If you say so, if you swear you don’t want the eternal life without me, that is your free soul’s desire to stay there until the end of time – and even after The Judgement Day – if you say so, I will never bring your child here. I will let him sail with me to his heart content: let him visit the far away lands and charm the most fair princesses, and conquer the seven seas, and find treasures of infinite worth – and I’ll even give him some solace, but I’ll never bring him here, to you. And you shall never see him again.’

So there was hope for me, she realised with surprise, the God did not forsake me... And there was the minute of peace in her heart, fleeting, sweet, delicate. And gone too soon.

‘So what’s your wish, my beloved?’ crooned the daemon. ‘I’ll abide to it.’

She actually laughed. She had almost forgotten how to do that and the sound startled her a bit. It was a pleasant laughter, though, soft and silver, similar to the rain drops falling on the grass in her hometown.

‘How could you doubt my heart, my lord? Even in the pits of Hell I shall not abandon you, I swear that on my own accord: it’s mine soul’s desire and mine will to stay with you forever. I love you more than the salvation of soul or Heaven’s shores. Is that enough for my lord?’

He chuckled with mirthless irony – yet nodded, and that was all she cared about.

 

***

 

‘I think it belonged to your mother, boy.’

A sailor lifted his eyes. Indeed, it was his mother’s ring. Family heirloom, old and worn, with his mother name engraved on it by his father. In the depths of Hell he would recognise it.

‘Where— where did you find it, captain?’

The captain’s smile was full of sadness.

‘It doesn’t matter much, I’m afraid. The woman that was wearing it is long dead. She rests in a unnamed grave. If you wish, we might sail to that place one day. Make her a proper burial. Buy a nice tombstone. Say a prayer for her soul.’ He put a hand on the young man’s shoulder. ‘Will that put you at ease? Will you stop looking for a ghost?’

The sailor searched his own grieving heart – yes, he had suspected his mother dead, but still, the confirmation shook him badly – and found that, indeed, somehow that little piece of jewellery should be enough to mellow his years-lasting despair. It felt almost like magic.

His nod was slow and solemn. The captain smiled, this time more joyfully, and ruffled his hair.

‘That’s my boy! But you must promise me you’ll invite me at your wedding, which, I’m sure, is coming now, when you are finally putting the past behind you.’

‘Of course I’ll, sir,’ the sailor sounded almost offended. ‘Aren’t you like a father to me?’

‘Indeed, I am.’ This time captain’s smile seemed not only contemplative, but strangely vicious.

It had to be a trick of sight, however, so the young man dismissed the matter and went on, rambling about some young lady he had met in the town the previous night – and he was speaking with the enthusiasm to that day not a once seen on him.


End file.
